


Currying Favours

by ccauchemar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Apartment Life, Background Tracer being a little shit but they all love her, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/F, FemWatch: The Zine - Freeform, Gratuitous description of curry, Mission injury, secret keeping, zine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16003886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccauchemar/pseuds/ccauchemar
Summary: Being monogamous and having two girlfriends aren't mutually exclusive, Sombra likes to tell Widowmaker in the safety of their private home, when both girlfriends are technically the same person.





	Currying Favours

**Author's Note:**

> this is my sfw Spiderbyte submission for the Femwatch charity zine!! all proceeds go to Minus18, an Australian charity that helps LGBT youth. For more information, the zine blog is [here](femwatchthezine.tumblr.com)
> 
> (also, despite the similarities, this _isn't_ the same continuity as my Espoir series)

Cloying, humid air clung to the battlefield. Light filtered through the moisture, lending a soft glow to the world as the warm, dying light of the sun faded from yellow to orange and pink. Spiky palms fluttered on the barest of breezes, and the underbrush rustled from small creatures on their evening hunts.

Sombra leant heavily on Widowmaker, favouring her left leg and dragging her right. A tourniquet was tied below her knee, stemming the flow of blood from the back of her calf. Her brow creased, beaded with sweat, as she adjusted her arm’s grip about Widow’s shoulders. The sniper held her up, steady and firm, a reassurance in the mire of pain.

“Damn bugs,” Sombra muttered, swatting sluggishly at a gnat.

“We will be at the drop ship soon,” Widow said, gently. Her sharp eyes scanned the ground ahead, calculating the easiest path over roots and rocks, as she took patient steps for her partner.

Sombra grunted in response. They fell into silence, broken only by the muted shift of moist leaves and the chirp of birds.

The duo had been sent in without backup, and though Moira would be waiting to pick them up, the pain and humiliation of being ambushed by the ones they were supposed to have the upper hand on was taking its toll. Sombra no doubt nursed emotional wounds, and Widow would never admit the tarnish on her pride.

The sniper tried not to focus on the ragged edge to Sombra’s breathing. _It was just another sound,_ she told herself. _But you care about her,_ came the reply. She deigned to ignore the voice of her subconscious.

“Surely the ship’s gotta be close,” Sombra said. “I feel like my brain’s playing russian roulette with itself.”

“The ship is close,” Widow reassured her. “It wasn't too far in the first place, but we _are_ a little slow going.”

“Hey, I can't help that,” Sombra said, with a dark laugh. At that very second, she misjudged a step, and her limping foot jabbed against a rock. A shot of pain lanced up her leg and she cried out, buckling, almost dragging Widow down with her.

“Should I carry you on my back?” Widow asked, unhurried, as Sombra spat a string of Spanish curses.

“Fuck you,” Sombra said, furiously blinking away tears. “I'm not faking it. Pick me up. I don't care.”

Widow blinked. “I'm serious.”

A sigh filtered through Sombra’s gritted teeth. “Your tone is flat again, Amé. Just _make it stop_. Please,” she added, for good measure.

Widowmaker disliked cruelty. She hated seeing her lover in pain. So she leant down, and scooped Sombra into the air, bridal style. The injured hacker hissed and threw her arms around her partner, clinging with ferocious force and burying her face in her neck as Widow began to walk, faster this time.

“This is better,” Sombra warbled, though her leg throbbed something fierce.

“Hold on a little longer,” Widow murmured into her ear, arms secure and tight, “We’ll be there before you know it.”

The mental state of _before you know it_ crept over them both, and time began to blur.

“How's _your_ mental roulette?” Sombra eventually asked, voice strained.

“I don't have one,” Widow said, monotone, feeling like she was dreaming. She watched her body walk, as if she were slightly behind it.

“I know that tone, calaca, you aren't as cryptic as you think you are. How's Amélie?”

“Dead. I'm working,” Widow deflected.

 _Ah._ Sombra regretted asking. Of course she wouldn't speak of her other half when there was such a strong possibility of being watched.

It was a good thing Sombra was used to speaking in riddles, or she'd never have been able to understand when Widowmaker wanted to be sincere… _or_ have discovered the other person still alive in the sniper’s head. Amélie hadn’t been killed - it was nigh impossible to kill someone like that - but part of the old Amélie was still alive, one that had been forcibly broken down, dissociated away, and compartmentalised to survive unspeakable cruelty, and she was the most precious secret Widow had.

A secret Sombra wouldn't give away for all the other secrets in the world, and for that secret, she had to play along with an act that the sniper knew best how to cultivate.

“We’re here,” Widowmaker said, and then Sombra could hear the distinct _bloop_ of one of Moira’s healing orbs being deployed, and it hovered around them, immediately soothing the pain.

“Oh, thank goodness, you made it back safe,” Moira sighed, hurrying them up the ramp with vigorous hand gestures. “Come inside, we have to go.”

“There are so many _bugs_ ,” Sombra complained, staring pointedly at Moira as Widowmaker helped lower her into a crew chair.

“Not in this ship,” Moira said, with a sly smile. “We have seven and a half minutes before I have to reactivate them and open the line with Talon. How are you feeling, Lacroix?” Moira asked, hearing the sniper sigh in relief.

“Like a drink,” Widow said, resting her rifle in a rack, and slumped into the seat next to Sombra.

“Tall, cold, and good to slurp,” Sombra said. “With a _subtle_ undertone of honey.”

Widowmaker smiled a private smile. The geneticist had no idea about Amélie's continued existence, and they planned to keep it that way. It was safer.

The first healing orb had petered out, and Moira summoned a second one. She untied the tourniquet and pulled a medkit close. “If you’re done flirting, I have doctorly duties to attend to. Do you mind if I ask what happened, Sombra?”

“I do mind. Widow?”

“I mind immensely.”

Moira rolled her eyes, pulling apart folds of fabric with tweezers so her biotic technology could do its work. “You'll have to report in eventually.”

“No we don't,” Sombra said, gesturing with one hand as she slumped in the seat. “Widow and I can go to ground and meet up with you in a couple of days.”

“That’s still _eventually_ , Sombra,” Moira said.

“Yeah, well, I want a break.”

Moira sighed, and stood up, shaking her head at their stubbornness. She knew that if they had their heads together, there was no stopping their plans. Better to cover them now than wrangle a slew of reports. “If you insist. You can feed the cameras a loop while I report. I'll drop you wherever you please… Just don't go overboard.”

Sombra and Widowmaker looked at each other with a twinkle in their eye. They both had the same location in mind, and that location was _home._

\---

At an address that conveniently changed or deleted itself every time it was recorded, Widowmaker and Sombra stepped across the threshold and into the fruits of their shared labour; at work no longer, they were free to be themselves.

Castillo was entirely Sombra’s domain. This secret apartment allowed Olivia and Amélie to be as domestic as they pleased. Though they could only lay low for a couple of days, they knew to make the most of it, and flew through the house flicking on electronics and lamps.

The living room couch was soft, plush, and well worn. Patches had rubbed off the fake brown leather where it creased. A glass bong, marbled green, white, and clear, sat underneath the coffee table, as did an empty ceramic bowl, carelessly left from the last time Olivia had treated herself to a “vacation” here.

Widowmaker let herself flop onto the worn couch and sigh. Finally, in a safe place, she could truly relax, and let her other half come out to play.

The hacker grinned, as she knew her lover’s routine, tiptoeing close and throwing herself on the couch. “Wheeeeere’s our little swan?” she teased, half laying in Widow’s lap. “How's she feeling?”

“I don't know. Give me a minute,” Widowmaker said, rubbing her temples, though she smiled. She closed her eyes and felt around, mentally, for a familiar twinge of creamy beige. _Are you there?_ she asked, to herself.

Like a forgotten memory rising to the surface, Amélie peeked into their conscious mind. _I'm here_ , she said. _Is it safe?_

 _Very_ , the sniper thought. _I wouldn't call you if it wasn't. We’re at home with Olivia._

 _Perfect. I love you so much. May I take over, darling?_ Amélie asked.

 _Of course,_ the sniper said, and felt the mental fuzziness of the impending see-saw change.

“Here she is,” Widow said breathlessly, and her body went lax on the couch. Olivia waited patiently, as this was normal. Less than a minute passed before the blue woman inhaled, eyelids fluttering open as she readjusted to the present.

“Amélie?” Olivia grinned.

“Olivia?” the ex-dancer breathed, brow creased, a little dazed, trying to focus her eyes.

“ _Amé_ ,” Olivia cooed, pouncing on her lover and kissing under her chin. “Do you have any plans for tonight? ‘Cause I sure don’t…”

Amélie pressed a finger to Olivia’s lips. “I do have plans,” she said, recognising that eager and coy undertone. “But first. Cuddle me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Olivia sighed, settling in her lover’s arms. Amélie's hands found their way to the small of her back, tender and warm, and Olivia ached for this stolen moment. A softness in the way she held herself that wasn't usually present, a gentle and warm curling of her limbs that contrasted quite sharply to the spider’s more possessive, protective holds. A quieter voice, expressive eyes - a subtle change in body language that anyone out of the loop would never notice.

“You’re muuuuuch better to cuddle than Widow,” Olivia remarked, eyes happily closed, nuzzling the boob she had her cheek smooshed into.

“Implying?” Amélie asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Implying you don’t cuddle me with your _rifle,”_ Olivia said, squinting.

 _That was ONE time!_ Widowmaker exclaimed from far away, but her cry went unheeded. Amélie smiled, a twinkle in her unnaturally golden eyes. “Ah, chérie, I think she would be sad if you made her put down her third limb.”

“I'm not interested in a rifle up my butt, chica,” Olivia said.

“Are you sure?” Amélie purred, cheeky, right in her girlfriend’s ear.

“Don't make me horny, you said you had plans!” Olivia laughed, pushing up so she could smirk at Amélie. “And I wanna hear about them.”

Amélie reached back for the tablet she’d plugged in to charge. “I found,” she began as she entered its passcode and browsed her bookmarks, “a _lovely_ recipe for a curry.”

“Oh? What kind of curry?” Olivia asked, peering at the device.

“A Sri Lankan style curry. It's from a personal blog, they wanted to share,” she explained, tilting the tablet so Olivia could see better.

“I meant the meat, Amélie,” Olivia chuckled, scanning her eyes over the text. “Ah, chicken? Yum. Can I put extra chilli in mine?”

“Of course,” Amélie said. “I had the ingredients delivered over two weeks ago by a friend. And _Fatale_ had no idea.”

“ _Didn't_ she?” Olivia chortled. “Considering who that _friend_ probably was…”

“She didn't!” Amélie laughed. “My _friend_ is, after all, very fast, efficient, and good at evading her.”

The sniper huffed, unable to vocalise her discontent at being outwitted by Lena Oxton, and crossed her intangible arms.

“Ohh, I _love_ you. I bet she's mad. She haaaaaaates when speedy gets the one-up on her. Is she saying anything?” Olivia teased.

 _NO,_ the spider said, but Amélie betrayed her anyway. “She's so mad!”

“That's _so_ funny. I love her. Need me to make some rice?”

The sniper pouted, and Amélie shushed her with a mental kiss. “Yes please,” Amélie said. “The author put a recipe on another page, if you want to try it with me. There's a small bag of rice in the cupboard behind the bread, could you get it?”

Olivia rolled off the couch and walked to the kitchen. She fished around, found a small bag of basmati rice, and laughed. “Girl, you came prepared!”

Amélie gave a little smirk from the couch. “I did indeed,” she lilted.

Olivia collected cardamom pods, salt, and oil as directed for the rice, and fished out the curry powder for her lover. Amélie collected chicken, garlic, ginger, onion, a small tray of fresh karapincha - curry leaves - and a stalk of lemongrass, arranging them all neatly on the kitchen bench in the order she would use them. Amélie, particular as she was about food, wouldn’t miss details - and if she was going to this much trouble, it was for something special.

Amélie propped the tablet on the windowsill above the sink, stretched her arms, and rolled her sleeves up. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Olivia said, twirling an empty saucepan by the handle, and the two began to work.

The fragrance of the cooking spices soon filled the kitchen. The two chatted about fashion trends and Talon gossip as the rice came to a boil, and Amélie's colder half watched, a buzz behind the eyes, as she added the meat and dark roasted curry powder to the frying leaves and translucent onion in the pan.

“Look at the rice, I think it's time to put the lid on,” Amélie remarked, pointing at the pot Olivia had been stirring, gently, to prevent the grains from sticking. “Put the lid on, turn the heat to low, and leave it for fifteen minutes.”

“Mhmm,” Olivia hummed, and whipped up a holo display to start a timer. “And yours?”

Amélie looked at the simmering curry, with its small cubes of meat and brown coconut hodhi, and tapped her wooden spoon against her chin. “I think so too. It smells _lovely.”_

“And… done,” Olivia says, setting another timer with a flick of her wrist. “Now come cuddle me.”

“Gladly,” Amélie said, and kissed Olivia’s cheek.

 

When Olivia rolled off the couch and onto the floor, Amélie didn't look up right away. “Do _not_ take the lid off the rice,” she warned, when she heard the kitchen sink running a minute later, without opening her eyes.

“I’m not going to,” Olivia called.

Amélie went back to resting. All was quiet until she heard the flick of the lighter, and her eyes snapped open to glare swords at Olivia, who was sitting at the coffee table with her green glass bong out, ready for smoking and a bowl packed full.

“If you smoke so much as ONE lungful of weed I will hide all your hair dye and steal your favourite snacks,” Amélie threatened.

“It's just the one!” Olivia said, holding the lighter. “I'm not gonna get really high, I know this is special for you. I just want a little bit.”

Amélie scowled. “If you know it's special, can you do it _after_ we eat?”

Olivia paused, thinking about the weed, thinking about what they were doing here. “Y’know what, actually? That's a good idea,” she conceded, and put down the lighter. “I’m sorry. I’ll wait. It’s your special night.”

Amélie blew a kiss to Olivia. “ _Merci beaucoup_ ,” she murmured, and smiled at her partner’s blush.

Olivia left her paraphernalia on the table and returned to her favourite position atop her girlfriend. Amélie’s hands rested on her back again, and as they waited for the timer to end, the two were to content to doze.

 

“How are you such a _good cook?”_ Olivia moaned around a mouthful of food.

“I couldn't have done it without your help,” Amélie demurred.

Olivia tutted. “Ay, don't give me that, you crazy swan. You're magic, I swear. Buuuuuut... what's the occasion?”

Amélie pushed a small piece of chicken along her plate as she thought about what to say. “It’s been a year since you and I fell in love,” she murmured, and tentatively took Olivia’s hand in hers, brushing her thumb across the knuckles. “Not just me, as in, the sniper. You and _I,_ as in me, Amélie. So now, you love the whole of me, not just… half of me.”

It wasn't what Olivia was expecting at all, and she cursed herself for forgetting. “Oh Amé,” she sighed, curling her fingers around the dancer’s. “You're going to make me emotional.”

Amélie lifted Olivia’s hand and pressed it against her cheek. “I love you, Olivia,” she whispered. And then, inhaling, tone deeper as the sniper made her presence known, _“We_ love you.”

Olivia made a choked noise. “You two are gonna kill me with your secret emotions. And your switching around. I've had practice but there's only so much I can pick out without you _telling_ me, you know.”

“She has secret emotions and I have tactical advantages,” Widowmaker interjected, taking control of their vocal chords for the quip and a wry smile. _“I_ do not do emotions.”

“You're a terrible liar, araña,” Olivia whispered, kissing the sniper’s trigger finger. “Now give me back my other girlfriend.”

The sniper chuckled, mellow, and her eyes went glassy as she retreated.

Amélie came back in control with fluttering eyes and an exhale. “What did she do?”

“Nothing. Just being romantic in her weird spidery way.”

Amélie smiled. “I love her. I really do. She keeps me safe.”

“She keeps us both safe,” Olivia said.

The separate sniper, always watching, always protecting, in her weird, spidery way, agreed.


End file.
